Yorkshire Grit

Where the hell was she?

I wasn’t as convinced that erotica was on the cards.“You share the room with your brother?” I asked.

The sweet and demure lady driver in the pristine antique Volvo, suddenly became ‘FemDeath Monster’ on wheels.

the raccoon who’d moved in and made a home, looked at his watch and noted the hour- it was time for dinner.

Well, I was affronted, who the hell did he think he was, weren’t they supposed to be frightened of us?

-clothes say a lot about people and so does their dirty laundry.

As the figure came closer I could make out it was a girl about twenty maybe, wearing white diaphanous clothes which billowed and swirled round her as she twirled and dipped.

“Oh yes,… well that’s the Scrumpy see,” she said. “It’s what they leave in it when they make it that does that to them after a while. It’s what they like though, the rougher the better.”

It made me think that time must have gone much slower back in History. This was History, I felt a tingle inside my head, I felt different like I had traveled back in time.

There were loads of girls at the college, more than chaps. I didn’t think it would be too difficult to get fixed up, especially if I took more baths

Corsham was dreamlike alright, most likely because everyone, students and locals were in fact constantly stoned

Not long after we’d moved into Jubilee Terrace, I was on one of the many errands I ran for mi mum. As I walked through Rippendon, I was reading through the shopping list mi mum had given me. When I s…

The summer weeks of 1969 passed by in a cloud of romance and disinfectant. Then it was over and art college beckoned.

Occasionally, there was a funny side to daily life on the ward.

Some of the old men had had lives that were simply tragic, awful accidents of history and circumstance. It was as though their stories had been locked away with them, too awful for society to bear.

We found our natural target in another server, a senior one. He was a sanctimonious middle-age man with a military moustache clipped neat and thin and Brill-Creamed hair.

“A number 23 bus ran over my foot Sir”. He said wincing.

I expected a long tongue to shoot out of his mouth anytime, sucking back a small choirboy and swallowing the one who’d been singing flat.